


An Alternative 1971

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: British Actor RPF, British Comedy RPF, Not Only... But Also (TV) RPF
Genre: First Time, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: During their 1971 tour of Australia, Peter and Dudley have time and space to figure their relationship out.





	An Alternative 1971

Inspired by: [Behind the Fridge: The Professor](https://youtu.be/jyWlm6_-lTA?t=846)

\------------------------------------------

They flirt all the time. Little touches here; little grabs there, and Peter steals kisses from him whenever he can. Dudley would think it was just to shock the camera operators, but the truth is that Peter is just as tenacious and flirtatious when the cameras aren’t rolling.

It was just nice. Peter waltzed over to him, a drink in each hand. There was a spring to his step that Dudley hadn’t seen in a while.

“Here you go, love.” Peter kissed him on the cheek as he set his glass down.

Dudley couldn’t help but grin across from him as Peter sat in the lounge chair opposite. “What’s brought this on?” he asked.

“What, darling?”

“This whole…“ Dudley gestured expansively, searching for the right word, “mood.”

“What mood is that, dear?” Peter asked, smiling broadly and taking a generous sip of his scotch.

“You seem… happy?” Dudley replied.

“What is there not to be happy about? We’re on holiday in gorgeous Australia, everybody loves us, except the control boards who are giving us free publicity.”

“We’re not on holiday, we’re working!” Dudley corrected.

“Doesn’t feel like working to me, Dud?” Peter gently nudged Dudley’s calf with his foot.

“You do have a point, Peter.” Dudley conceded, returning Peter’s nudge taking a sip of his own drink.

\---

Several hours later, the hotel bar had filled up with tourists, mostly English, but who were paying them no attention.

Dudley returned after a lengthy mission to procure more drinks. “Can barely bloody hear you with the noise in this place,” he excused himself as he sat down on the couch closer to Peter.

“There’s something about this place, isn’t there?” Dudley mused.

“Hmm?” Peter answered distractedly, attention caught by the way the afternoon sunlight was playing on the highlights in Dudley’s hair. 

“It feels, freer. More relaxed. Like we don’t have any rules.”

“And you’ve always been such a rebellious anarchist, dear.” Peter teased. 

“No, I – you know what I mean,” Dudley jostled Peter with his shoulder.

“Yes, I do.” Peter said, smiling into his beer.

\---

The bar had cleared itself of all other patrons and it was just the two of them, a little pissed, heads inclined conspiratorially as they talked.

Dudley had just thrown his head back to laugh at something Peter had said, that unselfconscious cackle reverberating through the room.

Peter found himself grinning again at Dudley. Dud was right, there was something about this place. He felt unchained, untethered. He wished that he could stay in this moment forever. Just him and Dudley, drinking, and laughing. Really, that’s all they needed. All the records, and films, and stage shows, and television programmes – just in aid of them getting to spend time making each other laugh.

Dudley was looking at him, breathless, with his hair half covering his eyes. Peter reached forward unthinking and tucked the loose strands behind his ear. He wasn’t sure what made him stroke the side of Dudley’s neck, but his skin was warm and soft.

“It’s getting quite long now, isn’t it?” Peter said, gently curling the hair at the nape of his neck around his forefinger.

“As the actress said to the bishop.” Dudley returned on autopilot.

Peter retracted his hand, “You are awful.” Dudley’s eyes were still shining up at him. His breath caught in his throat.

\---

Peter was complaining about the perceived imbalance of physical demand accompanying their stage roles.

“For your solos, you just have to stand at the piano. I’m the one having to dance about like an idiot! Have you tried pelvic thrusts lately? They can be very dangerous for a man of my advanced age.”

“You’re two years younger than I am! Good to know when we inevitably write our first love-making scene, that I will be the one doing the thrusting.” Dudley teased.

“Hey, wait! I never said – “ Peter started back pedalling.

“Hush, no explanations needed,” Dudley put his finger against Peter’s lips to shush him, and to his utter surprise Peter stopped talking. He could feel his lips twitching against his finger and after waiting a beat too long, removed it.

Dudley continued, “Anyway, it’s only fair that you’re the one having to jump around. I have four words for you. One. Leg. Too. Few.” 

Peter grinned wickedly at him. “Oh yes, I was thinking about reintroducing that one back into the show.”

“Oh no you bloody well won’t! We’ve milked it for the televisual audiences enough times already.”

“But it’s the best thing I’ve ever written,” Peter whined.

“I disagree.”

“Then what is the best thing I’ve ever written?” Peter asked.

“Ah, dear Peter. Always fishing for compliments. You’ll find none from me here.”

“Well, what would you want to add to the show?”

“I was thinking of doing another jazz combo…“ Dudley contemplated.

“No. No, absolutely not. Not another bloody sketch where you get to sit down and twiddle your thumbs for three minutes.”

“Twiddle my thumbs? I’m playing the piano!” Dudley’s voice had raised itself in indignation.

“Whatever effect your twiddling of thumbs has is no concern of mine.” Peter said with an indifferent air.

“It will be when I’m twiddling my thumbs up your - “

Peter raised an eyebrow at him and Dudley faltered. 

“Ah, see that’s your problem right there. No follow through.” Peter challenged.

“I’ll show you follow through!” Dudley leaned forward and kissed Peter full on the mouth. Peter was caught off-guard and Dudley had retreated to his position on the couch before he had had a chance to reciprocate.

“Well, dear.” Peter said, his face showing absolute unbridled delight. ”Shall we take this upstairs?”

Dudley laughed nervously, “Shuddup.”

“As you wish, dear.” Peter said, his bright eyes twinkling wickedly, a satisfied smirk firmly in place. “I do love this game we’re playing.”

“Speaking of physical injury,” Dudley continued as if nothing had happened, trying to ignore Peter’s expression, his eyes intensely trying to bore holes through his own. “What about the one with the Professor and the student?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Dud.” Peter always seemed to imbue the word “Dud” with the same tonality as if he were saying “love”.

In Dudley’s best imitation of Peter’s professor, he began, “Come in, Come in, Come in.”

“Oh! The Professor! The one where you are sitting in a comfy chair, drinking sherry and smoking a cigarette. You get off lightly!”

“You don’t do nearly enough wriggling for that, dear.” Dudley gave Peter a daring eyebrow raise and saw Peter’s eyes widen and his pupils practically dilate. If this tension between them was just an act, which he was by now almost one hundred percent sure was not the case, then it was a very good one. If truth be told, he didn’t rate Peter’s acting high enough for that to be probable.

“Oh, is that right? I’ll be sure to try harder next time.” Peter challenged.

With a nonchalant air, Dudley responded, “Oh if you would, love. That would be smashing.”

“Say no more.” Peter said with a wink, as he rose from the table to fetch them another round.

\---

Dudley awoke with a tremendous hangover the next day. He pushed through and the next week of the run continued much the same. Performing and drinking and flirting outrageously whenever everyone’s backs were turned, and quite often when they weren’t.

They had settled into a perfect rhythm.

Each night they would find themselves in the hotel bar until the early hours of the morning, occasionally entertaining local guests, but more often than not each other until stumbling off to bed. 

\---

Today, something was different. Peter was stone-cold sober, which was notable in itself, but there was a new energy about him. It was intense and a little intimidating and Dudley found himself slightly on edge at the beginning of the show.

It was when they got to The Professor sketch that Dudley recognised it for what it was.

He could recognise it, because he’d seen it countless times before. Peter getting sober, focussing that laser-intensity on the object of his affection, usually Dudley’s current girlfriend, and seducing them with surgical precision and accuracy.

He’d never had it directed at himself before.

The sketch progressed.

“Would you do me one small favour, Parkiter?” Peter asked in that supercilious voice.

He descended on Dudley, sitting down on him as he responded, “Yes, Sir?”

Peter settled against him, asking, “Would you mind getting out of my chair and getting out?”

Peter was a full grown man over six feet tall. He was not light, and had the added weight of a lecturer’s gown and as he lifted his knees, sitting down, all his weight was coming down on Dudley through his arse onto Dudley’s thighs.

On these nights, Dudley was very thankful for the extra padding Peter had acquired since his undergraduate years.

The only problem now was the wriggling. 

“Sir, Sir you’re, you’re sitting on me, Sir.” Dudley’s character painstakingly pointed out.

“Parkiter, would you mind not sitting under me and get out?” Peter’s professor was infuriating, and like all his characters, a little bit of a reflection of the man himself.

“Get out, Parkiter!”

“Oooh” Dudley groaned, standing up bracing his hip. It was never a comfortable scene to perform, and this time he’d had to put far more effort into holding his hips still while Peter writhed on top of him than usual.

As he looked back at Peter, he could see him checking his arse out in the jeans.

Peter continued as the professor, “Some people have a little work to do.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you realise I have to prepare tomorrow’s lecture?”

“Yes, Sir. I do, Sir.”

“Well, you’re completely wrong. I’ve only got to find it and read it out to a lot of little sods like you. Get out!”

Dudley was relieved to leave the scene and have a chance to get his breathing under control and his libido in check.

\---

This appeared to be only an indication of things to come.

Each night, the wriggling would escalate. Some times Peter would turn himself sideways on Dudley’s lap, hanging his long legs over the arm of the chair.

One memorable time, he flipped his gown up over Dudley’s head before sitting down and Dudley was suffocated with it. All he could smell was Peter, and all he could feel was Peter’s arse, through the layers of denim and dress pants, subtly grinding against his cock. 

\---

After that particular scene it took all Dudley had not to manhandle Peter into the green room and take him apart. Only the niggling concern that perhaps it wasn’t entirely intentional prevented him from doing so.

That evening, they were in the green room. As Peter grabbed his coat, Dudley stood in front of the door, blocking his exit. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Peter asked, his eyes glittering dangerously. Dudley knew he was playing with fire.

“Tonight. The Professor. The wriggling. The grinding.” Dudley didn’t know exactly where he was going with this. Everything depended on how Peter responded.

“Well, you did ask…” Peter said in lieu of an explanation.

“I did not…” Dudley began, “Oh.” Vague recollections of that night in the hotel bar. Flirting and maybe making an allusion to the effect that sketch had on him. 

“Oh.” Peter echoed him. “Well, if you don’t want me to do it, I’m perfectly happy to stop. I thought it was what you wanted.” The hint of a smile was still playing at the corner of Peter’s mouth.

Damned Peter with his looks and his height and his smile and his blue eyes and his body crowding in on him. Dudley had always had a thing for tall birds, and it seemed this preference spanned the genderal bridge.

Suddenly, his indecision was gone. He really couldn’t care less if Peter knew what he was doing. He’d done it. 

Dudley took him by the lapels and pulled him into a bruising kiss, almost sending him off balance.

He felt Peter groan into his mouth and awkwardly walked him back to the sofa, throwing him down on it and straddling him. He made quick work of releasing them from their trousers and when Peter’s hand joined his in stroking them together he could have wept.

He was panting into Peter’s ear and could feel the body beneath him shivering.

They only had a few minutes before they’d be called out to do meet and greets of distinguished guests.

In a length of time both would be ashamed of achieving climax in with any other partner, they were both coming messily over themselves. Peter’s grip was relentless, stroking them through the aftershocks as Dudley groaned helplessly in his ear.

“So, we’re doing this?” Peter asked quietly.

Dudley looked down at him. Pupils blown wide, hair an absolute mess, lips red and swollen from kissing. He’d never looked more beautiful. “Yes, now change your shirt. You look utterly filthy.”

“So do you, darling.” Dudley smiled and gave him another kiss before getting to his unsteady legs and searching for some tissues.

\---

Dudley was surprised that nothing external to their relationship changed. The interviewers asked the same questions. The audiences laughed at the same jokes. Peter was just as flirty and inappropriate with him as he’d always been in public. Even more so, now he could rest assured that the advances were unequivocally welcome.

Peter could be downright pornographic when seated opposite him at a dinner party. Again, it was the same micro seductions he’d been present for for the best part of a decade, but when they were directed at him. That was something else. No man ought to be that envious of a cake fork.

Dudley could give as good as he got. He now had the knowledge that Peter was the neediest of bottoms, and all he had to do was caress his own finger to see the pupils darken, the breath catch and Peter absolutely lose his train of thought.

As with everything between them, this was a competition.

Peter ramped up the wriggling in The Professor sketch each night to the extent that they were racing offstage to get each other off in the break of every live show. The way they were winding each other up was providing enough stimulation that Peter had completely stopped his day drinking. Instead choosing to put that incredible mind towards finding new ways to torture Dudley and drive him crazy.

\---

Some shows were harder to get through than others.

It seemed the more turned on Peter was, the more hellish he made Dudley’s life on stage until Dudley could repay him in kind back in the green room. 

One day, this came to a head. Before the show, Dudley took Peter’s hand to take the sting out of the words. “Peter, you’re going to have to stop the wriggling tonight. I honestly don’t think I can take it.” 

For the past few shows, every time he looked down at himself or Peter, he could see their erections distending their trousers. If he could see it when he wasn’t even looking for it, how were the photographers with their magnification lenses, and the television cameras going to be able to miss them?

Peter didn’t heed his warning.

Ninety percent of Dudley’s focus for the entirety of the show was trying to remember his lines through the fog of lust and arousal that was coursing through him. Lust and arousal, tempered with abject humiliation at the thought that literally _anyone_ could see. And some of these shows were being filmed for god’s sake!

After the show, Dudley marched Peter into the cab from the venue. On leaving the cab, Peter headed for the bar. Dudley pulled him away and steered him forcibly up to the hotel room.

“What the fuck was that, Peter?” Dudley growled at him.

“Teasing me all night. It was downright pornographic.” Dudley had loosened his own tie, undone his top button and started undressing Peter.

“I could see how hard you were below those robes.” Losing patience with the shirt buttons, he ripped open Peter’s shirt, followed by his own, buttons pinging off in the process.

“It was not okay to look like that. To look at me like that.” Dudley was now wrestling with Peter’s belt and trousers, deliberately running the back of his knuckles over the crotch of his trousers.

“That wasn’t even wriggling in The Professor, was it? It was a deliberate up and down motion. I mean, fuck, Peter. I could feel you against me. Riding me.” Dudley’s words were coming out in the most pained tone Peter could remember. 

“I need you.” Dudley’s was a tortured voice, helpless in the face of unimaginable arousal.

Peter whimpered. He’d barely said any words, but seeing Dudley like this was something else. 

Peter turned around and roughly forced him back on the bed. 

Dudley flew back with a delighted shriek. Peter clambered on top of him and ground against him, fully clothed. They had never gone so long without having a hand down the other’s pants.

Peter kissed him passionately. It was powerful and their teeth clashed, and when he moved back, Dudley felt real loss. 

Then. Oh god.

Peter was grinding. Sitting back, slacks stretched until they were virtually ripping at the seams. That tight, covered arse was grinding back and forth along the length of Dudley’s cock and it was all he could do not to thrust up violently and dislodge the man currently riding him.

Instead, Dudley grasped Peter’s hips, and with untold strength, lifted him and managed to gasp out, “Pants”.

Peter got the message and rolled off him to shimmy out of his trousers. Dudley’s mouth watered as he saw Peter’s y-fronts distended by the shape of his cock.

Somehow this sight was so much more debauched than any of the times he had seen Peter completely naked.

The night flew by; the culmination of everything that had been brewing between them since the beginning of the tour, perhaps even further back than that.

Free from the time-pressure of hurried hand jobs during intermission and stolen moments of misconduct bordering on public indecency, they finally had the space to explore their bodies slowly. 

For the first time, Dudley could pin-point the exact hitch of breath from Peter that indicated he was about ready to come.

For the first time, Peter found the exact line of Dudley’s stomach along which he could run his finger that would turn him to putty in his hands.

It wasn’t until the sun was creeping through the curtains that they finally fell asleep, curled up in each other’s arms, sated.

\---

“Morning, Dud.” Dudley awoke to Peter bringing him breakfast in bed, completely nude.

“Morning, Pete.” Peter laid the tray across Dudley’s legs and crawled into bed next to him, leaning over to peck him on the cheek.

“What’s this for?” Dudley asked, famished and already tucking into his breakfast.

“Need I have a reason for doting on my Dud?”

Happily munching away at his honey on toast, Dudley responded through a mouthful of food. “Of course not.”

Peter shimmied further down the bed, curling around Dudley and slinging an arm across his stomach. “Do we have to go back to England?” he asked.

Dudley had moved his clean hand to play with Peter’s hair, alternately tousling the locks and massaging his scalp. “I’m afraid so. Why?”

“I don’t want to lose you.” Peter’s voice was so small, and Dudley’s hand stilled in his hair.

“You won’t lose me, Peter. We’re doing another tour.”

“But it won’t be like this. There’ll be _people_.”

Dudley chuckled at the sheer amount of derision in Peter’s voice as he talked about other people. He sometimes thought he would make the perfect casting for Sherlock Holmes… if he were less self-conscious in his acting. Acting wasn’t hard, but you couldn’t think when you did it. That was Peter’s problem. Always thinking.

“Oh good. Laugh away, Dudley.” Peter said, a hurt bitterness creeping into his monotone.

“Not laughing at you, love. Laughing at people.” Dudley clarified.

“So we’re not going to stop this?” Peter asked.

“Of course not.”

Peter emerged from his cocoon of duvet and Dudley, raising himself on an elbow to look him in the eye.

“I love you Dudley.” He said earnestly.

Dudley reached out a hand to caress Peter’s face. After brushing his cheekbone with a thumb, he pulled him in for a searing kiss.

“I love you too, Peter.”

\---

…and they both lived happily ever after. Their divorces went through cleanly as their ex-wives knew they’d been in love with each other all along and that was part of the reason their marriages had broken up in the first place. Neither of them went through substance abuse as the emotional and stimulatory voids that drugs and alcohol provided were adequately filled by their relationship. The End.

**Author's Note:**

> I write far too much angst with these two. I wanted to write something the way the universe should have asserted itself.


End file.
